One Needs a Truck Load of Patience to Deal With a Mother

Since time immemorial, it is a known fact that once we women become mothers, and more so mothers of adults, we get irrational by the moment. The same is the case with my mum, as well. It gets challenging to converse with her because she refuses to see sense.

We have arguments daily, which mainly revolve around her telling me that she isn’t happy living with my husband and me. Her idea of living a happy life is for me to divorce my husband, and live with her ever after – which is impossible. I feel like I have already given so much of my life to her that now I don’t want to waste my time or breath on anyone else but me.

I don’t get it. My husband and I have done so much for her, we are both bending over backwards for her, but her satisfaction remains at a -2. Every day she walks up to me and tells me I am not concerned about her anymore (which is downright stupid and she knows that. I think she secretly says it to piss me off), she is upset because I don’t shop for her every day (that’s what I used to do, but I reduced the daily shopping to weekly shopping due to the COVID scene. I wonder why she doesn’t get the seriousness of the situation.). Her anger scale hits a 100 when I support my husband (which she despises because she tells me every day what an incompetent husband he is – which he isn’t – and wants me to leave him and go take a house where both she and I can live “happily ever after”).

I want to put an end to this daily mental stress, but I can’t. I can’t, because:
-1 I don’t have the guts to fight back with her
-2 She will threaten to kill herself – which she has attempted several times
-3 She will walk out of the house in the middle of the night, and I have to hunt for her

I am beginning to feel extremely dissatisfied and demotivated with all these scenes that are happening at home. The sad part is that this will be a continuous cycle, and there’s no end to it.

#when the going gets tough, the tough get going (except, looks like I won’t go anywhere, except walk right into my mom’s trap)

John Denver and Other Oldie Songs

I was very little when my mom sang ‘Strawberries, Cherries, and an Angel’s Kiss in Spring.’ It seemed like that was the only English song she knew and, in turn, the only one we knew. Then came the days of singing Doris Day’s ‘Que Sera Sera,’ post which came another memorable song sung by a teacher in my 10th grade ‘Don’t Cry, Joni.’ I fell in love with the latter. I didn’t feel as bad when Joni cried at the age of 15 as I felt bad when Jimmy went back to her 15 years later. My eyes brim with tears when he says that his tears fell like rain at day. Aw!

I actually sang that song to my good friend Rijo in degree college. He took me out for a meal, and I remembered this song. I asked him if I could sing it for him, and he replied in the affirmative. After I finished singing the last stanza of the song, he was agitated. He was so upset that Joni married John, and he said quite seriously, “This is why, if we intend on leaving town for a while, we gotta shoot all our best friends and then leave.”

But there was something about John Denver’s Annie’s Song. Through my late school years, I used to hear mom sing this song on and off. Mum actually forgot the name of the song, so she always started with ‘You fill up my senses..’ After a while, I began to wonder if that song actually existed, because it seemed like a far off memory for my mother. So I wasn’t sure until I heard it on the radio one fine day. Mom and I had just left Kerala (ran away from there to start a fresh life in Bangalore), and we were wandering the streets of Kamannahalli when we decided to get a drink of water in the famous supermarket ‘Nilgiris.’ As I waited for mum to come back with the bottle of water, a lady on the radio sang the song, and I flipped. The ‘radio lady’ said she would like to sing Annie’s Song for her listeners, and that’s where I found out the name.

I was ecstatic. I was almost jumping up and down, and I couldn’t wait for mum to get back. When she came over and handed the water to me, she saw me all revved up and asked what was up. I told her the name of the song, and she gave me a bright smile. She was like, “Oh, yeeeeeahhh!” I was so happy. I felt like I was that lone warrior who won the battle and came back alive. Weird, I know.

It’s funny how songs can just transcend you from the present to the past in an instant, just like how some aromas, fragrances, and odours take us to a different place in time.

#You fill up my senses, come fill me again ❤ ❤

Would It Be Fair to Myself If I Started Talking to My Step Sister?

My dad left us when I was in the first grade. No one was sad about it. We all moved on with life. We carried on living the miserable heights-of-OCD-life with my mother. But we never complained. When I hit 6th grade, dad said he wanted to meet us kids. We were delighted. Meeting him was an escape into an ordinary world. We jumped and frolicked around him, until he said, “There’s something that I need to talk to both of you about.” We knew instantly that he probably came bearing some not-so-good news.

We sat in the car, and he said, “I have decided that I will marry aunty Rita.” We were speechless. Numbed. Not because we were hurt, but because we didn’t know how to face mom and tell her of this new development. Rita was a prostitute he hitched up with, 5-odd years earlier. My brother asked him, “Why?” Dad said, “Because I am a man of principles. I got her pregnant, and now I must get married to her.” We never bought that.

After my step sister was born, he tried to get us involved in his life for years. But we wouldn’t because we were mom’s soldiers. Still are. We gave her unconditional love, unwarranted support, and believed every word she uttered – which were accusations of the unjust life given to her. We lapped up every bad thing she said of dad, which was mostly right. But irrespective of it all, we loved dad and still do. Sadly, the one thing he wants from us is something we can’t give him. He’s been asking us to talk to Samantha – my step sister. He asked my brother if he would take care of her when he does pass away. My brother responded in the negative.

I do feel bad for dad. But then I wonder, would it be fair to myself to start talking to her, laughing with her, and sharing girly stuff with her? My mum, brother, and I had a tough time – financially – ever since he left. We barely managed to eat a square meal a day, while he splurged all his money on her. I had just a pair of pants and two shirts when I was in college, while she had a whole wardrobe of clothing. I struggled to get to college from home and vice versa, while she went on trips to foreign lands.

To sum it up, she had everything while we had none. So now, would I be fair to myself if I should forget everything that happened and get pally with her after all these decades? I do love my dad, so would it be fair to give him the one thing that he wants?

#life is always unfair; so do we go with what makes us feel good about ourselves or what makes someone else happy that could eventually make us kind of happy too?

Mom-related Insecurities

I had mentioned a while back that my mum’s long lost love was back in her life – which is absolutely excellent. I love that she is finally talking to a man after decades. I love that her interest in men has been rekindled. I love that when she’s done chatting with Sam – her ‘lover’s’ name – she looks pleasantly happy and flushed. I would like it if he could come over and spend time with her. I daydream that he comes and takes her away to London – that’s where he stays – and they settle down and live a happy-ever-after life. She deserves it, right?

But there’s this vicious part of me that is so insecure that she will leave me and go. I know this sounds super whacko. Generally, it’s the parents who behave in this manner and are scared their kids will forget them. I get it. Though I probably have Stockholm, I really feel like I have invested so much of my life in her. I have done everything she asked of me, given her quite a bit of what she’s wanted, taken her on ad-hoc trips, and always abided by her OCD-riddled life.

All through my young-age, through school, college, and workdays, until I was 29 -until three years back, I wanted to leave her and live a free, oxygen life – if you know what I mean. But life has taken a strange turn. I now want to be with her. I want the remaining of our lives to be happy, I want her to never want anything else, and I want her to enjoy life with me. I knew a few days back that I am going overboard when I decided to leave my husband again, just to go spend time with her for a year.

Not that my husband and I are separating or the like. He and I have a great bond, and he understands my predicament. He does have his fair share of complaints where he tells me I spend way too much time with my mom and demands that I spend an equal amount of time with him, but the fact is that he gets it. He really gets it and doesn’t make me feel bad about my decisions.

But now that Sam is in mum’s life, I wonder. Will she leave me to be with him? While I know the answer is a hard no, I still have my insecurities. Why is it a hard no? Because I know she loves me like crazy, and nothing can deter that. Why then do I doubt her love? I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fear of newfound love and companionship?

#just some raw feelings

A Road Accident That I Witnessed Today

With the lockdown going on, it gets difficult to get out to shop for groceries. The best time to do so is between 7 and 8 in the morning. That’s when the fresh vegetables come in the market, fresh milk packets are sold, and when I can take the bike out without getting caught by the police (because neither do I have a license nor a helmet – which I intend on getting once the lockdown ends).

I went for the first set of shopping – vegetables. I got home and mum said she wanted to have bread and a good sausage omelet. But we’d been out of bread for a few days; so I stepped out again to figure where I could get bread from. I stopped at the regular supermarket, but they blatantly gave me stale bread. I demanded the fresh bread that just came – I mean I saw the bread truck unloading a whole load of fresh bread, but they said the fresh bread was for another store and gave me the option of either taking the stale bread or nothing. I was in a dilemma. Mum wanted bread and I had to get it for her – but I was not that desperate to buy old bread. I walked away and decided to go further to another supermarket. Luckily I got bread there and I was on my way back home when I saw a crowd had gathered in the middle of the road ahead.

I knew instantly there was a mishap (obviously). As I rode nearer to the crowd, I saw two bikes lying on the road. The bikes were upturned and the wheels were still whirring and whizzing, but the riders were not to be seen. I inched closer and saw that one of the bike riders was lying on the road, motionless. He wore a red t-shirt and black pants. I panicked. Everyone was panicking. He was dead – or so it seemed. Until a few minutes later he opened his eyes and looked straight at me. I flinched and was instantly filled with a  feeling of guilt. A range of emotions sped through me – fear, relief, anxiousness, and helplessness.

By God’s grace, he gradually gained consciousness and people were trying to help him up. I wanted to tell them to stop moving him around in quick, jerky movements. But I was transfixed to the spot. As they tried to lift him up, I saw a pool of blood had accumulated under his head. He was bleeding profusely. Then I saw the second rider. He was hovering over the bruised rider and was probably praying to God that the former had survived the crash. The second rider has scraped his face, but he was fine.

I started my bike and rode on towards home. What could I do there anyway? I would just be contributing to the roadblock. Neither was I being productive, nor helpful. And that’s when the realization struck. It’s so easy for us to always blame onlookers when an accident takes place. As news readers, video watchers, and the like,  we always say “that guy/girl could have helped out”. But that’s not true. We will never know what emotions the onlooker is going through; what their speedbumps are and what their limitations are.

I got home and handed over the bread to mum and started thinking. Shit happens all the time to everyone. We all think that we are going through hell, but the fact is that everyone goes through the same share of shit every day. This is exactly why we have to be thankful for all the small mercies in life.

#happy for all the good things I have been given by God!


Does My Mother Miss the Touch Of a Man?

momMy mum divorced my dad 2.7 decades back. My father slept around with numerous women – friends, relatives, hoes. He eventually left us to hook up with a prostitute. I never understood that. My mum was the perfect wife – but I guess being the perfect wife doesn’t count. He loved sleeping around with women. When my mum confronted him, he brazenly said: “I need variety”.

The irony was that the prostitute was also a lawyer and she got my parents divorced. Mum tried her best to make the marriage work for 14 years until one night she told dad to get out of the house. He was shocked. He never thought she would say that. He thought he’d threaten her and responded, “I will leave.” Mom looked straight into his eyes and said: “The door is right there.” After he left that night, he never turned back or returned home. Mum heaved a sigh of relief. She was done being a part of a verbal, physical, and emotionally abusive marriage.

From 1992, she’s been single. And I wonder, does she miss being with a man? I am sure she does. Ever since I became an adult, I have had several flings. Now that I am married, I think about her all the time and the fact that she doesn’t have a partner. I wonder what it must be like to have no sex, no caresses, no hugs, no reassurances, no moral support, no laughter, no good times with your better half. It must be so sad for her.

But all she looks forward to is seeing me, being with me, going on adventures with me, and having the time of her life with me. Recently, an old flame of hers reached out to her and seems like he’s been trying his best to rekindle the magic between them. But for some reason, she isn’t interested anymore. I wonder why. She told me he was the first love of her life and shared her first kiss with him. I was ecstatic when I heard he reached out to her. I started dreaming. Dreaming of her reuniting with him, meeting him, seeing her be happy with a man, seeing her blush. I always fantasize about being able to rewind time. If I could, it would be for her to not get married to my dad, but to someone that she loved, so she could live a beautiful life.

I want her to be happy. I mean, it’s not like she was the best mother. She was by far the worst that any child could have. I know this seems out of place, considering what I have written above. Though that is indeed true. But seems like I have Stockholm. That’s what my friends say. Maybe they are right. Because why would someone love her mother so much after she was beaten black and blue for 28 years by her mother? 

Whether it is Stockholm or genuine love, I don’t know. But I do want to see my mother be happy. Will that be possible? I don’t know. I sure do hope for good times for her. I hope that she gets to go on dates and have the time of her life. I try my best to make her happy, but having a better half cannot be compensated with anything else. 

#life is tough for many